Confession
by Ari-Skye
Summary: Arthur loves Alfred and finally tells him about it. Alfred doesn't take it well. One-sided England/America


Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia

England had to remind himself once upon a time he was an empire. He had been able to make the world kneel at his feet and kiss his boots. Lick them even. On occasion. If he felt like it anyway. At that moment in time he needed some form of validation that he was indeed a force at the very least to be noticed, because Alfred had just flat out ignored him for the first time since the revolution.

He had called on his former charge from across the room in a commanding voice that left no room for interpretation. It was a clear command, even Italy looked up from his nonsensical mutterings with Germany to see what he was screaming about. But America had walked off with Kiku and not so much as given a glance to him.

So England stood stock-still, counted to ten, and reminded himself he was the former British Empire.

France laughed at him and said something that sounded like 'I told you so' in that annoying, grating accent that always made Arthur think of starting a world war for the sole purpose of punching Francis in the balls. Just once. The Frenchmen had dared him to confess his long held feelings to Alfred. "It's about time you tell _Amérique_ how you feel about him. I've had enough of hearing about. If you don't tell him, _ma belle paire de sourcils_, I'll tell him myself." The Frenchmen had said. So, threatened with having his secret ousted by one of the least tactful people on earth, Arthur decided to actually confess his feelings at the next world meeting.

The meeting had rolled along quicker then the Englishman would have liked. He was shaky and fidgety the whole time, staring at the oblivious American across the room with fear and excitement in his eyes. He was worried Alfred had actually realized something was wrong halfway through the meeting when the superpower nation mouthed 'are you okay?' in an exaggerated fashion. Arthur had waved his concern away and avoided America's gaze the rest of the meeting.

Now that the meeting was over England followed Alfred out of the room, both relived and peeved his former colony was at the end of the long, empty hall. He figured here would be a good of a place as any. If it was done at one of their homes they would have to deal with the awkward silence that would no doubt ensue until they left for their flight. This beige and white hallway with it's brown and white striped carpet was more then sufficient. It smelled like lemon and the light from the wall to ceiling windows made it feel light and airy. Arthur could think of few better places to confess his undying love, given his situation.

"Hey! Wanker!" Of course he responded to that. Arthur restrained himself from rolling his eyes.

Alfred turned around with a look of dread and worry on his face. He nodded once to Kiku who disappeared down the stairwell. Alfred marched up to Arthur, his arms swinging at his sides in an annoyingly carefree fashion.

"Hey bro! What's up?" Alfred brought the heavy smell of frying French fries and hamburger meat with him. Arthur couldn't decide if it was endearing or repulsive.

"You didn't hear me the first time?"

"Huh?" Alfred looked so clueless Arthur couldn't hold his anger.

"Oh never mind. I have something I wish to tell you." Arthur began playing with his hands, running his palm over the tips of his fingers; back and forth, back and forth.

"Is it about that new movie coming out?" Alfred's eyes opened so wide Arthur was worried they would fall flat our of there sockets. "The one about the aliens!? Oh man I can't wait till-"

"No it's not tha-"

"Have you seen the prequel Iggy? It was awesome! Ya'know you should go shopping with me sometime! We need to get you something other than old man clothes. I refuse to go to a movie with you dressed like that. What ever happened to your punk clothes?"

"Alfred-" Arthur ran his sweaty, sticky hands through his hair making the dull blond locks even more messy then they already were.

"Hey! Look at that bird!" Alfred rushed to the window to point at a bird resting on a branch.

"Alfred that's a pigeon."

"Are you sure?"

"Alfred I'm trying to tell you something."

"Do you think that bi-"

"Alfred I love you."

The world stopped moving and neither one of them breathed.

Arthur hadn't imagined he would confess like this: in an empty side hallway after a conference. He always imagined it would be at Alfred's farmhouse in New York. The two would be lying on the grass bathing in evening sunlight. Alfred's home would loom off in the distance as they lay nearly napping on the acres and acres of Alfred's land. Arthur would turn to look over at the man beside him and look deep into those beautiful brilliant blue eyes and tell him quietly, strongly 'I love you'. Alfred wouldn't say anything, just smile that goofy smile he had and lean over to kiss him.

But nothing ever happened the way it should, at least when it came to Arthur's personal life. He was sweating through almost all his pores; the armpits of his sweater were drenched as well as the inside of his thighs. He was shaking worse than a home in a hurricane. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them in an attempt to steady himself. It didn't work.

Arthur remembered the first time he admit to himself he had feelings for Alfred. He had sat in America's home, breathing his former colony's scent as he held his head in his hands. Alfred had gone to go get something from the other room, his coat maybe. It was the 20's and everything was booming in America. Life was a party and Alfred had no qualms about joining in. He had grown into a handsome young man and even England couldn't ignore that. He was stunning: glowing blue eyes and wheat blond hair. His skin was smooth and gleamed with soft kisses from the sun. Everything about him was beautiful and Arthur wanted to be apart of his beauty. He wanted to melt in it; he wanted to drown in it.

When he realized he loved Alfred he first felt disgust. That was the boy he raised from childhood, the one he rocked to sleep and told 'boring' bedtime stories too. It was the same boy who he taught table manners and cleaned away his sheets when he wet the bed at night. And then it dawned on him the boy who he cared for was not the same person who was walking into the room now, standing in front of him, giving him a such a big stupid smile. The man who stood in front of him was loud and brash and refused to eat with the proper fork. The boy from England's memory was just that, a memory. He had died in The Revolution. The memories were sweet and he cherished them with all his heart but when he realized he was madly, deeply, hopelessly in love with America he shoved them to the back of his mind where they belonged.

Which led him to now, the Brit holding his breath and looking at Alfred as if he was the only person on the planet.

"I love you too Iggy" Alfred shifted his weight. His gaze wandered from Arthur's face to the window "like a brother. It'd be sort of weird, you know? You changed my diapers, man! You should be going out with someone a little older anyway, what are you a cradle robber?" America let out a loud uneasy laugh that echoed throughout the hall.

Arthur nodded absentmindedly. "Yes. Of course." Arthur was no stranger to rejection, but it had never hurt this badly before. Somewhere in the back of the Brit's mind he wondered if he had ever truly loved until now. It felt like Alfred had taken his heart and squeezed it until the red, fleshy organ was bloody mush in his hands. Old man? Cradle robber? Was he really?

Ignoring the look of pure dejection on England's face Alfred slung his arm around Arthur and went on and on about all the movies coming out this weekend, mostly just to fill the silence.

The American knew this day would come: when Arthur would finally confess his feelings to him. Alfred was only half as oblivious as everyone claimed he was. Even he knew Arthur had feelings for him. At one point, early in his life, when he had a growth spurt that made him into a nearly full grown man, he had loved England. He loved the green-eyed man for all his life was worth. He dreamt of holding Arthur through harsh winters for warmth and rolling through thick grassy fields in the summer as they kissed with endless, bountiful passion. He had wanted nothing more then to love and be loved by his former caretaker. But he had grown out of it. World War I pulled him away from his country and out into the world and once he knew what it was like he never wished for isolation again. The world was a big, beautiful place. He realized Iggy would never be enough for him; he wanted something more then England could give him. Power and fame never coincided well with love so Alfred threw love away. He wished he could love England again. He tried to pull up those ancient feelings but felt nothing. He wished more then anything in the world at that moment that looking at the love stuck man's face would make him love him again, but it didn't. He just felt guilt.

They both knew it was better this way. Love between countries couldn't last forever anyway. Austria and Hungry were a testament to that. Arthur swallowed his tears and put on a good face. He was a gentleman after all and melodramatic displays of affection were not acceptable.

"Maybe we could go see a movie together, Iggy. Maybe in a few weeks? If you're not busy?" Alfred looked down at Arthur, his eyes pleading, begging, for silent forgiveness and Arthur was too smitten and broken to deny him.

"Sure." England nodded and looked away from Alfred and out a passing window to the scenic grassy fields outside. "That sounds great."


End file.
